


Human Resources

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks into their working relationship, Neal calls Peter to ask for a sick day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Resources

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://sahiya.livejournal.com/profile)[**sahiya**](http://sahiya.livejournal.com/)'s [](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/)**fandom_stocking**.

Peter got the text from Neal when he was on his way across the bridge, stuck in morning traffic.

_Is there any chance this position comes with sick days?_

He sighed and let his neck hang forward to stretch out some of the tension. Neal had been an almost model employee in the month since Peter had returned from vacation and started working with him in earnest, but apparently the honeymoon was over. Traffic looked like it might start moving at some point, so he hooked his phone up to the hands-free device and dialed Neal’s phone.

“Yeah,” Neal answered. His voice sounded rough, but a ten year-old could fake that, much less a world-class con man.

“I really need you in the office today, if you can manage it. What kind of sick are we talking about here?”

“My throat hurts.”

“That’s all? I don’t hear any coughing.” Peter didn’t want to be a jerk, but in the real world most people had to work when they weren’t feeling well, and if Peter couldn’t do anything about Neal’s lifestyle of cappuccino in the clouds at June’s house he could at least attempt to introduce Neal to reality on work time.

“I don’t know, I have a headache. Seriously Peter, if you don’t need me I just want to stay here and take some Nyquil or something.”

“I’m sorry, but I really do need you in the office. We have a box full of documents that we need to authenticate, and I trust you to do it better than anybody else. Can you take some Tylenol, drink some tea or something and get in here? If you get through the box, I can probably let you leave early.”

Neal was quiet for a moment before answering. “Yeah, okay. I might be a few minutes late.”

“I can deal with that. See you soon.”

Neal ended up being only fifteen minutes late, and Peter had a twinge of guilt when he saw him. He had on a turtleneck sweater under his suit coat and he looked washed out, but still—Peter wasn’t asking him to chase down thugs or do a stake-out on some freezing cold roof all day. All he had to do was sit at his desk, and that had to be a big step up from sitting on a prison bunk. Peter picked up the file box full of suspicious documents and took it down to Neal’s desk, where he sat nursing a bottle of water.

“Okay, we think we have a mix of legitimate and forged documents in here, and it would take the lab far too long to authenticate them all officially. If we can at least narrow it down to the ones that are likely forgeries we can move ahead on this case instead of sitting on it for a month.”

Neal nodded and pulled out a handful of papers to start with, looking more resigned than ill.

“You good?”

“Define good,” Neal murmured before looking up with a small tense smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Peter wasn’t going to apologize for requiring Neal to do the job he’d practically begged to do. He just wasn’t. “Okay, I’ll be in my office.”

Neal nodded, and Peter left him to focus on his work. Up in his office, Peter plowed into his own work, bureaucratic tap-dancing that was at least as tiresome as the work he’d given Neal. A few hours had passed when a knock at his door distracted Peter and he looked up to see Diana standing in the doorway.

“Hey, boss,” she said and tipped her head toward the window that looked out over the bullpen. Peter stood to get a better look and saw the problem immediately: Neal was bent over his desk, face-down with his forehead resting on his arms. “He’s been like that for a few minutes and up close it looks like he’s sweating. As cool as this office is—”

“Yeah, great. Thanks, Di, I’ll take care of it.”

Diana nodded and walked off down the hall. Peter gathered up his coat and briefcase and went down to lean against Neal’s desk. “Neal?” When he didn’t respond, Peter put a hand on the back of his head and felt the heat of a pretty solid fever. He moved his hand to Neal’s shoulder and shook it. “Neal, wake up.”

Neal startled then and sat up. “What happened?” His face was flushed now rather than pale, and when he took a drink of water he flinched in pain.

“I changed my mind.” Peter grabbed Neal’s coat and held it out to him. “Come on, we’re heading out.”

Neal didn’t argue, just pulled on his coat and hat and followed Peter to the elevators and out of the building. In the car he cleared his throat and turned to look at Peter. “So, what’s the case again?”

“The case?” Peter shook his head. “The case is whatever plague you have brewing in your throat. I’m taking you to urgent care.”

Neal shook his head then rubbed at his neck. “I just need some rest. If you’ll take me home—“

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a democracy. Don’t waste your energy arguing.” Peter looked over to see Neal leaning his head against the window. “Okay?”

Neal nodded silently then closed his eyes. Peter felt a twist of worry that something might be really wrong with the kid and pulled the car out onto the street.

~~~

Two hours later, Peter kept a hand on Neal’s back as he steered him up the steps to his front door. Peter’s front door, because there was no way he felt comfortable about dropping off Neal at his own place when he had strep throat and a fever of 103° and looked like he was ready to fall asleep right there on the cement stairs. He needed somebody to make sure he stayed hydrated and took his antibiotics, and if Peter knew his wife she’d probably be plying Neal with soup and hand-made frozen yogurt. As pathetic as Neal looked, he couldn’t even begrudge him the comfort.

When they got inside the house, Satchmo scrambled up and started licking Neal’s hand. Neal looked down at him, then looked around with bleary, blinking eyes. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re getting you well.” Peter did his best to sound stern and practical, to keep up some vestige of that wall between personal and professional, but then Neal smiled, looking sleepy and exhausted. And relieved.

“Thanks,” Neal said, and Peter wrapped his arm around him to guide him up to the guest bedroom.

Working while sick was reality, but so was friendship. And so was family. Peter thought that maybe they all had a lot to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a sequel: [Employee Assistance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/651753)


End file.
